


'Cause if I could see your face once more/ I could die as a happy man I'm sure

by LaingLeigh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Mick Davies, Dean Winchester is a good brother, Drunk Mick Davies, Fix It Fic, If you are looking for a happy ending you're doing it wrong, Ketch Lives, Ketch needs hugs sometimes too, M/M, Mick Davies Lives, Mick Davies always needs hugs, Mick Davies will always live in my fics, Someone Fix Him Mick Davies, Sorry Not Sorry, Supernatural doesn't allow us to have nice things, no happily after here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 06:53:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12721755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaingLeigh/pseuds/LaingLeigh
Summary: Mick is left alone with his vices and it's never a good thing especially when he finds a guitar in Dean's closet.He covers Kodaline's All I Want in hopes it might be strong enough to bring Ketch back because hey, love is strong than death right? Or it should be.





	'Cause if I could see your face once more/ I could die as a happy man I'm sure

**Author's Note:**

> After finding out that Adam Fergus can sing, it was basically an excuse to imagine him covering this song. Also, because it's 1:00AM and I have All I Want and repeat. 
> 
> Always unbeated.

Mick tosses back the shot. The burn has settled to a subtle numbness. He’s grown quit accustomed to it. Mick admit to himself that The Winchesters (mostly to Dean’s credit) that he feeling that tingle again. However, he wasn’t about to let Dean have that satisfaction at all. 

The Bunker is quiet tonight. Dear wearily left Mick alone with his vices which was a terrible idea to begin with. The brandy was gone and he was nursing on some Vodka. 

Once the Vodka was capped off he went for a few beers. He made a mental note to restock their stash later. If he cared to remember. The bottles clung in his fingers. It was a cheap knock off American brand that he hated but he went with it. He learned a long time ago to improvise. 

The Bunker was nothing new really. It wasn’t the first one he’s been in but it may be the last. The blasts still echoed in the back of his mind at night. The bombing kept him up at night. The only evidence of The Men of Letters existing was and here he was trying to dimension that last bit of himself that he hated most. It made him sick to his stomach. The endless amount of booze probably didn’t help. At this point, he really didn’t give a shit. 

He wondered aimlessly. It was a labyrinth of rooms and shelves with hidden compartments galore. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he was a fan of the secret door. The particular corridor that he stumbled through led him down a familiar array of rooms. Dean’s was the first with his being second. Castiel’s was tucked away on the left like a secret because it was. 

Mick thought he pushed his way into Dean’s room. He almost tripped over a pile of clothes. His room reminded him of the eldest Winchester: a closed in tight space with sharp corners and fine lines. 

The closet, he noticed was left ajar. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have let his curiosity get the better of him. Also, if he wasn’t extremely intoxicated he’d realize it was a trap. 

Mick was blindsided by all the flannel and cotton. The black tee shirts and jeans were folded away in the dresser on the opposite wall. With his free hand, he let it graze through the soft fabric. He caught one and swung it to the side. Dean Winchester’s closet wasn’t full of skeletons. Instead, it was filled with vinyl and an acoustic guitar. He smiled despite himself. The bottles of alcohol were discarded as he went to grab the hidden instrument. 

Mick would be lying to himself if he didn’t recall the last time he played.  
Arthur caught a familiar voice on the wind. He eyed The Bunker. There were times when it was as silent as the grave. That was the point of it. Then there were those times when the all the security went down. 

Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t that cold of a bastard to not appreciate good music especially if Mick was covering a particular song. 

Dean gave him he a choice. Out of Mick’s best interest, he could turn around and leave. The keyword was choice and like Mick, he could make one. Fuck it, he thought and staggered into the direction of The Bunker where Mick was.   
Mick’s voice was drawing him like a damn siren. If he wasn’t careful he was going to drown. It was a hell of a way to go. 

Ketch was careful as he opened the door. He followed the chords to Dean’s bedroom. Mick left the door wide open like an invitation. It wasn’t meant for him but it didn’t stop him from taking it anyway. Lying to Mick wasn’t just leaving a vile taste in the back of Dean’s mouth. It made him ache down to the core and made himself sick half of the time. 

Ketch never thought he'd be jealous of an instrument but he suddendly wished he was the guitar in Mick's arms. 

“…When you said your last goodbye  
I died a little bit inside  
I lay in tears in bed all night  
Alone without you by my side…” 

The hurt wrapped up in Mick’s voice stung and the way he let his fingers pluck madly against the strings. It caused him to regret any life choices he made after deciding to be incognito. 

“…But If you loved me  
Why did you leave me…”

It was a question Mick kept asking himself without any real answers. 

Mick hit the guitar as if that would make a damn difference. He placed it next to him. He felt the pierce of tears at the corner of his gray eyes. It started wallowing up in his chest leaving a constant ache in wake of Arthur’s death. 

Yes, Arthur. It was his name dammit which he didn’t fail to forget. He was a person, a lovely man at one point that Mick came to know. The worst part of it was there wasn’t anyone to mourn his great loss. Once he let the tears go, there was no stopping them. 

Mick’s short breaths and hiccups propped him to take a step. He caught a glimpse of him hunched over in his chair. He’d cradled his own face in his hands because there was no one else to hold him. 

As much as Ketch wanted to scream out, he ceased and decided at the last second to turn and run. It was what he did best. He was almost careless. A loose floorboard caught under his heel. 

It was enough to make Mick jump upright. “Hello,” He called out. “Dean?” Mick asked. He staggered to his feet. “Arthur?” He hoped and collapsed to his knees only to be left alone with his ghost. 

Ketch sighed with relief as he braced himself against the wall outside his room. He ducked away before running in the complete opposite of Mick.


End file.
